“We should not pretend to understand the world only by the intellect; we apprehend it just as much by feeling.” – Carl Jung.

Now, abstract expressionism is something else. Here you feel every emotion, use every color, choose to follow whichever you want, expressed but exaggerated, synthesized, abstracted, with no association pictured and free to be associated with any event you choose, or none at all. It doesn’t matter. Just feel, like music. Like perfume. Like the atmosphere of twilight. Like a smile. Like a tear. Like the madness of confusion. Like rebellion. Like the laughter of a clown playing an insane joke.

Red fish, dead fish,
You will make a tasty dish.
Hatch a fish, catch a fish,
You will be delicious, fish.

A hook, a pole,
A roll of twine,
And, pretty soon,
You will be mine.

Butter sauce with lemon-lime,
Sage, oregano and thyme,
A lovely glass of cold, white wine,
A meal which will deserve a kiss.
I’d like to know, so I don’t miss,
Are there other words which rhyme with fish?

In fairy vales and fantasy
From Tara to Ultima Thule
You may dance with the King
You may dance with the Queen
You may even dance with the Fool
It should be no surprise
When you open your eyes
There’ll be butterfly puddings
And, dragonfly pies
With a gingerbread bird
In a chocolate disguise
And, a jingle bell Jack
You can win as a prize
With an apple red sunrise
In blue cheese cake skies

It is the wind which changes everything
The unsettling wind
Which is filling the swelling, invisible tension of movement
Replacing it with space
Announcing itself in whistles
Speaking in unknown tongues
Using only vowels and moans
With overtones of jazz and chaos
Actions dictated by anarchy
And, directed by insanity
Without regard to the rest of the world
It is the wind which changes everything

As I awake
The purple mesa
Is hovering above the horizon
The orange sands
All aglow
And, struggling
To remember last night’s dream
The appearance of clouds
The taste of rain
The unfolding of flowers
Disguised as rattling thorns
Singing to phantoms of yesterday
And, dust devils
Uncovering silver mirages

The dream world enters the waking world,
Merging together and unable to separate.
Vibrations are altered.
Sound is sculpted.
Vision disrupted.
Doors open,
The unfolded map of the gods giving directions,
Answering riddles.
Kachinas laughing and making bets.
The desert is lit up with faces of towering red rocks,
Toxins and imagination,
Growing into clouds and duplications.
The eyes of giants are weighing down the sky.
Mirages fill the road.
A skin of illusion covers the morning,
The afternoon. Another day.
Time is no longer synchronized with itself.
Light breaking into jagged, dancing auras,
Revealing pathways,
Directions and the darkness of reality.

I have read: “Datura is often one constitutent of the Amazonian drink ayahuasca, and in coastal Peru it is sometimes added to the mescaline drink cimora made from the cactus Trichocereus Pachanoi. The Jivaros of the Amazon use datura as well as the harmaline drink natema; they regard datura as stronger, more dangerous, and more suitable as a preparation for war. It is taken for spirit voyages to encounter the supernatural, but is not used in healing because the effects are so uncontrollable that the shaman cannot retain his ties to this world while journeying in the other one.”

“Known to cause dark visions and erratic behavior. Used for puberty rites and to make contact with the spirits which inhabit other worlds.”

The Navajo Indians take it to “talk with the Gods”.

I took it once, not knowing any better at the time, and it changed my life.

I am in a dream,
A dream of chaos,
Crystallized into jungles and forests,
Every tree alive,
Every leaf with its own direction.
I am seeking my way out,
Or, my way in.
I am trying to find out how I fit into the landscape.
I am seeking the colors which disturb my emotions,
Fill my soul,
And, feed my spirit.
I am following the pathways recommended by clouds,
And, I am recognized only by animals,
Who are seeking an attitude to match their own,
And, who know me only by my intentions.

You are well aware of life’s magnetic flow
And, all of the angles of the earth
I will tell you my secrets
If you tell me the secrets of the wind
If you let me follow you
Into the spiral skies
Into the heart of the spherical morning’s mist
into the eyes of flowers, sun kissed
Let me escape
From leaves refusing to cease their falling
From memories which won’t stop calling
From forest’s spark and shadows dark
The echoes of the lingering past
The promises which did not last
The lies which shook my world like thunder
Pulled me down and pushed me under
Take me instead into your world
Into your joy and wonder

Oh, butterfly, butterfly
Where are you going
Out in the open air
Out across the sea
Over the waves of sun in the blue sky
Under the white moon’s shine?
Reach into my stillness
And, I will hold you
In the shine of my soul